'I have naturally recommended your work to Himmler '

'Thank you.'

' and while obviously he appreciates your contributions to Projekt Saucer, he feels it's now time that we Germans take it over completely.'

'I understand,' Wilson said.

'Once we get to Prague, I'll have the saucer flying in no time, I can a.s.sure you, Herr Wilson.'

'I hope so, Flugkapitn.'

Schriever offered his hand. Wilson took it and shook it, then Schriever gave the n.a.z.i salute and led his two men away. Stoll smiled thinly at Wilson, nodded toward the exit, then led him and the other two n.a.z.i officers out of the hangar.

Wilson didn't look back. There was nothing there to interest him. He took his seat in the SS car, made room for Stoll beside him, and kept his eyes open as they drove out of k.u.mmersdorf, heading in the direction of Berlin. The night sky was bright with stars, the moon gliding behind thin clouds, but he soon saw a red glow in the sky, far ahead in the darkness. Then he heard the sound, the distant crumpcrump of explosions, and knew instantly that the glowing in the sky was from the flames of an air raid.

'They come nearly every night now,' Ernst said. 'The swine never stop.'

'Remember the Blitz on London,' Wilson replied, 'and you won't expect them to stop.'

'My family live in Berlin, Wilson.'

'I'm sorry,' Wilson said, though he didn't give a d.a.m.n.

'My wife left me,' Ernst continued like a man in a trance, 'but she's living with the children in her parents' house in the district of Wannsee, which they bomb all the time.'

'Not good,' Wilson said, bored.

'I worry about them more when they're elsewhere and now we're off to Thuringia.'

'It's important, Captain Stoll. Very important.'

'Yes,' Ernst said. 'I know. I just can't help but worry.'

Luckily, they did not have to return to Berlin, but instead turned away from it, to a station in a small town that Wilson didn't recognize, though he knew it was on the route to Brandenburg.

The station was heavily guarded, surrounded by armed SS troops, and the midnight silence was broken by the barking of Alsatian dogs and the awful sound of men bawling through megaphones. Torches shone on white faces, searchlights swept across packed trucks, and Wilson had to follow Stoll through ma.s.sed ranks of armed troops, none of whom looked too happy, and into a small railway station that was the stage for a nightmare. Prisoners from the camps were there, undernourished, terrified. They were forced to run the gauntlet of snarling dogs and cracking whips, then herded up into the box cars, where they were packed in like sardines. There were not many left most of the box cars had been closed already but Wilson saw enough to have a clear picture of what was happening.

It seemed chaotic, but it wasn't it was well organized and when Wilson saw General Nebe near the last of the open box cars, his face impa.s.sive but his dark eyes always restless, he understood why. Nevertheless, Wilson was glad to get out of it and into his carriage, which, as he discovered when the train pulled out shortly after, he was sharing with Stoll, Kammler, Nebe, and their most favoured officers. Nebe let them all relax, smoking and drinking, playing cards, and soon the distant sounds of the bombing of Berlin had faded away with the crimson sky, leaving only dark flatlands outside and the train's clickety-clacking.

'We're on our way at last,' Ernst Stoll said. 'Thank G.o.d for that at least.'

'Yes,' Wilson replied. 'The sooner we get there, the sooner you can return to Berlin and your family.'

'If they're still there,' Ernst said.

'If they're not,' Kammler said icily, 'you'll have made your personal sacrifice for the Third Reich. Would you not consider that an honour, Captain Stoll?'

'Naturally I would, sir.'

'You seemed a little bitter, Captain.'

'No, sir. I'm just tired, that's all.'

'We all are.' Kammler sneered, then lit a cigarette, blew a cloud of smoke, and engaged Nebe in whispered conversation, which only served to make Ernst more nervous, as Wilson carefully noted. Turning his attention to Kammler and Nebe, sitting together on the seat opposite, he wondered at the calibre of human being he'd been forced to deal with.

General Kammler, he knew, had been responsible for the planning of various concentration camps; had personally supervised and confirmed the plans for the enormous subcamp at Birkenau, part of Auschwitz, with its four gas chambers and crematoria; was impatient, ruthless, completely amoral, and, though Himmler's present favourite and ostensibly devoted to him, was consumed by no more than selfinterest. General Nebe, on the other hand, was a more shadowy figure, one of shifting allegiances, someone known to be a practised survivor and no stranger to bloodshed. He rarely smiled, fondled his pistol a lot, and kept his conversation to the bare minimum. A good man to have on your side; a man to dread if your enemy. To Wilson, such men were animals, but they had to be used.

It was a truly depressing thought.

Closing his eyes, he tried to sleep, but instead thought about how divorced he was from his fellow men, unable to share their petty concerns and narrow ambitions. They wanted the here and now, the love of woman, man's esteem, but failed completely to see just how short life was and, therefore, how important. Though born to be the tools of evolution, they still lived like cavemen.

Their evolution would not come naturally. At least not in time to save them. The continuation of the human species could be guaranteed only if men took matters into their own hands and recreated themselves. And as most men could not even conceive of that, the exceptional few, like Wilson, would have to lead the way.

I will do it, he thought, trying to sleep, but failing dismally. I will recreate myself, with my willpower and surgical a.s.sistance, and in so doing become the first of that race that will fly to the stars.